


The Day Jack Fain Understood Why A Devil's Nightmares Should Remain Unknown

by Random_ag



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Hallucination Description, Jack has Fucked Up, What The Fuck Eska, dont worry its fun, heavily, or at least how they feel, trust me its not what you think
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:24:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Random_ag/pseuds/Random_ag
Summary: In hindsight, no one should ask Eska anything, ever.





	The Day Jack Fain Understood Why A Devil's Nightmares Should Remain Unknown

Jack had thought this through.

A lot.

 

“This is a very bad idea.” Sammy still muttered as he tried to hold the lyricist back, “Extremely bad.”

“How so?” his friend asked.

“You have no idea what will come out of that mouth!” the music director replied through gritted teeth, “It could be one hell of a cursed rollercoaster of an experience, and you would not enjoy a second of it.”

Jack laughed a little, patting the other on the shoulder.

“I’ll be good! It’s just a question, after all…”

Johnny shoved him out of Sammy’s reach, the brass players inciting him with nods and thumbs up: “Well, go now! Come on! The sooner the teeth is out, the better for everyone!” 

The lyricist directed his gaze from his department to the skeletal cat-like monster sitting on one of the barrels. He took in a very long inhale, steadying himself quietly, adjusted his hat, put on a friendly smile, and forced himself to move his feet in the direction of the silent imp of death. 

 

Eska just stared at him with his wide eyes.

 

“Hi!” Jack started.

The handyman grunted gently.

“So! Uh… We, in- in the music department, I mean- we’re just a little curious, about, uh, your- your hallucinations…”

No angered reaction. Not very apparent at least. He simply tilted his head slightly to the left.

“It’s just… Y-you know, you sort of stop right there where you are, like… A-a deer, in the headlights.”

He flinched a little, but didn’t move. So far it was going good.

“We wanted to… To know why’s that! What this whatever you, see, or, hear, or… Or feel, or something like that, what is it like to you, to get you to just. Stay there and not move? Like a statue.”

The factotum waited a little, way too skinny legs dangling a little against the wood with barely a sound. The second the lyricist began feeling the awkwardness of the situation seep in, his voice slipped softly from under his mask: “The usual ones?”

“Yes!” Jack answered, relieved he didn’t seem altered by that question, “Yes, those ones. It’s just, curiousity, really, you don’t need to answer, if- if you don’t want to.”

Eska remained deep in thought for a minute, head falling on the left; then he had a flash of inspiration.

 

“Like Bohemian Rhapsody.”

“Like… Bohemian Rhapsody?”

“Yes.”

“They feel like you’re listening to Bohemian Rhapsody? By Queen?”

“Yes, the whole ten minutes.” Eska nodded. Immediately, he added: “But none of the singers can sing. And it’s mixed with many other songs, like a MIDI cover of it played with only the wrong notes, the All I Want For Christmas lady yelling in agony on the tune of Hellfire from that one Disney movie, Boulevard of Broken Dreams with distorted vocals and the song about the mother being on the phone. By the Police.”

 

The lyricist sent a quick glare at the orchestra members behind him. He could read the uncomfortableness and stupor in their faces.

He probably wasn’t very far from that look either.

 

“All while a massive creature that looks like a mixture of Cthulhu and some aztec gods squats right in front of you, dressed in a tracksuit made out of several other tracksuits sewn together to accomodate its bunch of limbs with a color composition that could make someone’s eyes bleed, and those sketchers that light up but constantly shining and on fire.” Eska continued, “It just stares unforgivingly into your soul with its million eyes while its thousand mouths whisper the kinda stuff you hear from pre-recorded messages and when you go to a drive-thru to get chicken nuggets but they can’t hear you and mess your order up by giving you a lot of ketchup, a box of eggs and an avocado.”

 

Jack was completely out of saliva.

 

“Those are. Those are just the usual ones?”

“Yes.”

“And what you just said is, is sorta how they make you feel?”

“Yes.”

“Well, they’re… They’re unsettling.”

“Why do you think I stay still?”

 

Sammy grabbed a table to be his moral support as he hid his face in one of his hands; the drummer, who had started dissociating as soon as Maria Carry had been brought up, was the silent pillar against whom the bass player was discussing together with a pianist if any part of the verbal exchange they had witnessed had actually happened. Johnny kept the guitarrist from yelling at the top of his lungs ‘what in the actual fuck’, not helped by the presence of Wally’s body laying on the floor with a care nor soul. Allison stared terrified from her recording booth.

 

“Did you take your medication properly?” asked Norman as he leaned out of his own booth-balcony.

“I’ve never had any medication.”

“Boy, do you need some!” the projectionist yelled, disdained, “Your brain is gonna rot away if you keep seein’ shit like that!”

“Joke’s on you.” Eska replied in his monotonous tone that somehow seemed to be tinted with a chipper feeling, “All that anchors me to this lifeless husk of a body is cheese and the neverending screams of the damned.”

 

Jack strongly regretted ever starting this conversation.


End file.
